Visitations
by smidget
Summary: While Harry gets a well deserved sleep in Gryffindor Tower, he has a few visitors. DH spoilers.
1. Minerva McGonagall

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. All is JKR's.**

_While Harry gets a well-deserved sleep in Gryffindor Tower, he has a few visitors._

_Visitations_

_Part One_

--_Minerva McGonagall_—

In all the years that Minerva McGonagall had spent at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry she had never seen her beloved Gryffindor Tower in such disarray. Standing just inside the entrance concealed behind the portrait of the Fat Lady, the aging professor stood rigid as she inventoried the damage.

Much of the furniture, the beautiful red plushy chairs, the carved wooden tables, had been overturned or broken and was piled in heaps to her left. A large, ragged hole gaped to her right. The tapestries were torn or gone entirely, there was dust and debris everywhere and the stairs leading up to the dormitories looked precarious at best.

Minerva sighed tiredly. Gryffindor Tower would always hold a place in her heart and Hogwarts would always be her home, but as she gazed at the destruction that had occurred, Minerva wondered if she'd be able to return.

She took one last sweeping gaze of the common room and was about to turn to leave when the sight of footprints in the dust caught her eye. Her gaze narrowed and her eyebrows scrunched together. There shouldn't be anyone in the Tower right now with the state it was in. And who would want to be anyway? Family and friends were still gathered in the Great Hall, mourning and celebrating as one.

Minerva stepped briskly across the room, following the footsteps that led up to the boys' dormitories. With determination, she stepped quickly up the stairs, which, in their damaged condition, creaked and protested under her weight.

The footsteps stopped on the landing of what would have been the seventh year boys' had they not all been living in the Room of Requirement for the last few months. The door was slightly ajar but Minerva could hear no sound from within.

With a caution learned from years spent with mischievous adolescents, and now with two wars under her belt, Minerva eased the door open, careful not to make a sound. For a moment, the room was too dark to see much of anything but when her eyes adjusted, Minerva saw a figure lying on one of the beds, still but for a silent breathing.

Her first reaction was to be indignant that someone was sleeping in her Tower without permission when everyone should have been in the Great Hall. But as her eyes further adjusted to the dim lighting Minerva caught sight of a mop of untidy black hair and any anger was instantly forgotten.

The first thing Minerva did was to make sure that he _was_ in fact breathing and she hadn't just imagined it before.

There was a steady rise and fall in his chest and she let out a little sigh of relief. Minerva took a step further into the room and gazed down at her student, he always would be, and her lips quirked upward. She hadn't seen him look this peaceful in a while, not that she'd seen him at all for some time.

Harry Potter had not been the ideal student by any means in his time at Hogwarts. He had received more than one detention in Transfiguration and other classes for dozing off or his smart mouth, but he had a clever wit. Minerva had known from the time he entered Hogwarts that he would be a student to watch. But not only had he become an intelligent and confident young man, he had proven to the world, and to her, that he was incredibly compassionate and brave and the personification of hope in the wizarding world.

She couldn't have been prouder.

As Minerva watched Harry sleep, his chest rising and falling reassuringly, she thought of the last time she'd seen this. Sixteen years ago when Harry was placed on his aunt and uncle's doorstep with nothing to his name but the letter he came with, Minerva had hoped that the son of Lily and James Potter, two of her greatest students, would be all right.

And now she saw that Harry Potter would be.

Minerva felt now that, while something was beginning, something was also coming to an end. She had seen hundreds of students through their Hogwarts education but only now did she feel ready to leave. And only now did she know that Hogwarts would be all right without her.

Taking care to leave as quietly as she had come, Minerva eased the door closed behind her until there was only the tiniest gap in the doorway. She made her way down the treacherous stairs feeling calm despite the view of wreckage at the bottom. She put a quick stabilizing charm on the stairs before leaving the tower and ignored the destruction on either side.

As she made her way through the quiet corridors of the bruised and beaten school Minerva knew that Hogwarts would make it back together again. Harry would see to that. But for now he deserved a nice, long rest.

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**This is a repost. I think I may have changed one or two things in this section, but it's largely the same as it was before.**

**Same deal as before, except there will now be a total of seven parts. Please Review!**


	2. Ginny Weasley

_Part Two_

--_Ginny Weasley_—

Ginny didn't think she would be able to sleep well for a long time. Every time she closed her eyes there were too many terrible images there, waiting, for her _ever_ be able to sleep.

Her head was resting on her mother's comforting shoulder as the family sat gathered in the Great Hall, though it hardly resembled the Great Hall Ginny was accustomed to. Rather than chatty students and long tables laden with food, and professors lining the front of the room, she and her family were surrounded by the wreckage of battle. With them, countless other families mourning and celebrating. The large room was filled to the brim with cries, sobs, and laughter, all mixed together and sounding strange in Ginny's ears.

As she sat there, sheltered in her mother's warm embrace, Ginny felt herself nodding off, her eyelids drooping closed and her breathing slowing. She longed to fall into a deep, dreamless sleep but she had little hope of that. As she felt her physical surroundings fading away a sharp image of Fred, motionless and pale and cold, on the floor of the Great Hall filled in behind her eyelids.

_Why is he lying there, _she wondered. _He isn't dead; he's only sleeping_.

Sleeping. She was.

Ginny jerked awake again and couldn't keep the sudden movement from her mother.

"Ginny?"

Her mother's voice was concerned, sincere, but also muffled from all her crying.

"It's nothing, Mum. I was just drifting off."

Ginny kept her head resting on her mother's shoulders but Molly turned to more clearly observe her daughter.

"Ginny, you must be exhausted," she said in a tone brooking no room for argument. "Do you want to go and –"

"No, Mum," Ginny said reassuringly. "This is a time for family. I'm fine, really."

"Yes," Molly said almost inaudibly. "A time for family."

But as Ginny gazed around at the assembled Weasleys, she noted that their family was currently incomplete. Arthur sat on her mother's far side and Bill and Charlie were seated across from them. Ron and Hermione had returned a few moments ago and were seated on Ginny's other side, Ron clinging to Hermione as if his life depended on it. George and Percy were kneeling on the floor by Fred. But Ginny still felt as though something was missing.

She sat up straight, removing herself gently from her mother's arms and turned to Ron.

"Where's Harry?" she asked quietly and glanced over Ron's shoulder as if expecting to see him there.

"Resting," was Ron's short, muffled reply. His face was half buried in Hermione's bush of hair and his eyes were closed.

"Oh," she said and nodded, turning away. Ginny suddenly wanted very much for Harry to be there with them, with _her_. She felt momentarily indignant at his behavior. He was as much family as anyone else seated around her. Why wasn't he there to be with Fred?

But as Ginny turned her gaze towards the rest of the Great Hall she caught sight of two more bodies that caused her chest to ache. Remus and Tonks lay a few yards away, looking as painfully still as Fred, but unlike Fred they were not surrounded by family. Rather, a lone woman had collapsed by Tonks's side and was crying fiercely, a baby in her arms.

Ginny had lost her brother. Little Teddy Lupin had lost his parents. And poor Andromeda Tonks had lost everything. But Harry… Harry had lost more than any one person should ever lose in their entire life. For such a victorious morning, Ginny was feeling quite a bit of loss and she no longer begrudged Harry's absence from the scene around her.

She stared at the people around her, her gaze most often returning to Remus and Tonks, and most often avoiding Fred. Pained by the sight of Andromeda's grief, but unable to look away, Ginny felt as though this pressing grief might swallow her whole. She stood up suddenly, unwilling to succumb to the weight pushing on her shoulders.

Her mother looked up indignantly.

"Ginny, what—"

"I'll be back, Mum," she said quietly, not meeting her mother's eyes. She needed to go, to be away, to not be _here_, now.

"Ginevra, _no_—"

"This is a time for _family_," her dad put in with a significant look and Ginny felt as though her words were being thrown back in her face.

"Mum, Dad, really, I won't be long," Ginny insisted and moved away before further protests could be raised. She wanted to walk over to Andromeda but had nothing to say and so she walked briskly from the hall feeling her family watch her as she left.

In comparison to the Great Hall, the corridors of Hogwarts were terribly quiet. It was unnatural for a school and Ginny looked forward to a time when the halls would be full of carefree students again. For the first time in a long time, Ginny felt sure this would happen. It hadn't looked so good a few months ago, the last time she'd seen Hogwarts.

After a few moments of wandering through the sunlit halls, Ginny found herself walking towards Professor McGonagall who was coming the other way.

"Hello, Professor," she said as brightly as she could. She was honestly very happy to see her head of house, but couldn't muster up very much enthusiasm. McGonagall didn't seem to mind.

"Hello, Ms. Weasley," she replied with a nod. The two stopped when they reached each other and stood in silence for a moment. Ginny looked up at her professor and thought she saw the ghost of a smile on her lips. Ginny smiled in return. With a pat on her shoulder, McGonagall turned from Ginny and continued on her way and Ginny had the distinct impression that Minerva McGonagall was _proud_ of her. Ginny felt warmer inside.

Ginny ambled through a few more corridors before she found herself face to face with the Fat Lady, still at her post guarding Gryffindor Tower though the portraits around her were mostly vacant.

"Password?"

"I—" Ginny hadn't been expecting this. "I have no idea," she admitted. "I'm looking for Harry Potter. Can you tell me if he's in there?"

The Fat Lady considered her, her hands smoothing out her silky pink dress and Ginny waited with baited breath.

"He is," the portrait conceded.

"May I see him?"

The Fat Lady considered, observing her, and then said, "Well, Minerva did leave instructions. Admit any Weasley, Granger or Longbottom into the tower, but without a password—"

Ginny's heart leapt. "Well, then you _have_ to let me in! I'm a Weasley!"

"I suppose," the Fat Lady nodded. A moment later, the portrait swung open and Ginny clambered inside before the Fat Lady had a chance to changer her mind.

Ginny gasped at her first sight of the common room. It was absolutely devastated. But she didn't waste long mourning her common room. Instead, she hurried to the stairs leading to the boy's dormitories and, disregarding their damaged appearance, sprinted upwards until she reached the seventh year's landing.

The door was only slightly ajar and through the tiny opening Ginny saw that it was dark inside. Ron had said that Harry was resting. She supposed he was asleep. Opening the door and careful to be quiet, Ginny eased her head through the gap when it was large enough. When her eyes adjusted to the dim light she saw Harry's still form on the closest four-poster bed.

She opened the door the rest of the way and walked over to him. He looked so peaceful.

Ginny instinctively reached out a hand to brush the hair from his face but paused, her hand almost touching him. She didn't want him to disappear and an irrational fear overtook her that if she touched him he wouldn't be real or he wouldn't be breathing. She watched as his chest rose and fell with steady breaths and his eyelids fluttered. He _was_ real. And he was _right here_ where she could make sure he didn't leave again. Ginny smiled tiredly. Her exhaustion was catching up with her as she watched Harry sleep.

_I'll only stay for a moment_, she told herself.

She sat lightly next to him and curled up, resting her head on the pillow next to his. It was just now hitting Ginny how much she had missed him over the last year. And now here he was, savior of the wizarding world, napping in his dorm bed looking for all the world like the carefree seventeen-year-old he should have been. She smiled a wide, tired smile.

Ginny's eyes were falling closed and she sighed contentedly. _I'll only stay a moment_.

But a moment later, Ginny's quiet breathing mingled with Harry and she was fast asleep by his side.

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**A few more changes in this repost, just to clean things up a little and make it flow a little better. Part three is officially in the works. Please Review! (Molly Weasley up next!)**


	3. Molly Weasely

_Part Three_

_--Molly Weasley--_

"Molly, dear, I'm sure she's fine," Arthur whispered, a hand resting on her arm. But Molly still felt very ill at ease and glanced at the doors of the Great Hall every few moments. Ginny had left over half an hour ago with words that she would only be a moment.

"What if there are still Death Eaters in the castle?" she whispered frantically back to her husband. "It's not safe for her to be wandering about on her own."

Molly frowned and watched the rest of her children, all gathered together for the first time in years, even if Fred was—

"Where could Ginny have got to?" she muttered fiercely, doing her best to distract herself, but Molly was sure that tears were falling down her cheeks again. She had been crying uncontrollably for hours now, worry and grief so piled up in her that they were bursting out at the seams.

Arthur slid closer to her on the bench where they were seated and took her hands. "I'll go look for her," he whispered. "And I'll bring her right back."

Molly felt the tears that were already falling well up behind her eyes. "No. No, you stay here with the children," she said haltingly. "I'll go find Ginny." She met Arthur's eyes for a moment and then made to stand up, the new task in front of her already a welcome distraction.

"Now," she muttered, more to herself than to anyone else, "where could Ginny have gone off to?"

Although she was merely thinking out loud, Ron, who was seated with Hermione close by, answered, "She probably went looking for Harry. She was asking about him earlier."

_Harry_.

"And where is Harry," Arthur asked promptly.

"He's resting in Gryffindor Tower," Hermione answered quietly. "He didn't want to come down to the Great Hall."

Molly nodded and turned to leave the hall when someone grabbed her hand. She turned to find Arthur looking up at her and she squeezed his hand in hers like a lifeline. "She's okay, Molly," he whispered with a tired smile so only she could hear. Molly took in a breath.

"How do you know?"

Arthur's smile widened a little. "She's with Harry."

With another quick squeeze of her hand, Arthur let go and turned back to their children. Molly nodded and turned resolutely towards the doors of the Great Hall, the need to see her daughter growing, despite the reassurances that she was with Harry and safe. As she made her way through the hall Molly saw only the scenes of grieving around her. She knew that there must be some sorts of celebration going on as well. You-Know-Who had just been defeated after all. But Molly's world was one of grief right now and it's all she could see.

Leaving the hall offered a nice respite from the sounds of tears mingled strangely with laughter that didn't make sense to her right then. Laughter was Fred and Fred was… gone. Molly wiped at her eyes and continued towards Gryffindor Tower.

Although it had been quite a few years since Molly had been a student at Hogwarts, she had no trouble at all finding the entrance to Gryffindor Tower. The portrait of the Fat Lady looked just the same as it always had and Molly approached it with a nostalgic feeling.

"I'd like to go see my daughter, please," she said more than asked. No portrait was going to stop her right now. But the Fat Lady didn't object, she simply swung forward with a sigh and Molly entered the Gryffindor common room for the first time in some years.

Despite the scene of destruction that met her entrance, coming back to the common room felt a little bit like entering the Burrow. It felt like home. Molly could still see herself sitting by the fire, writing essays, or watching Arthur playing chess over by the window.

But now was not the time for reminiscences. Molly suspected that she would find Harry and Ginny up in the boys' dormitory and the sight of footsteps in the dusty floors confirmed her suspicions.

Molly made her way confidently up the stairs and stopped when she reached the floor labeled as the Seventh Year's room. She paused and listened, but didn't hear anything from inside. She opened the door slowly, peaking inside. When her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she swung the door open wide to find her daughter laying in bed with Harry Potter.

Molly's first reaction was a deep frown that crossed her features at the sight of her daughter laying in bed with a boy, but when she looked closer, her frown faded away and Molly simply looked at them.

Harry's face was the most relaxed she had ever seen the boy, though it was covered in dirt and blood. His clothes were filthy and torn and stained but he slept with a small smile on his face. Molly suspected he hadn't slept well in a long time.

Ginny was turned away from her, facing Harry, and Molly could tell that she was just as peaceful as Harry was. And Molly could tell, from the way Ginny's hand was resting on Harry's and the way their feet were intertwined that there was something here more than friendship.

Molly suddenly remembered a ten-year-old Ginny telling her that one day she was going to marry Harry Potter. Molly had smiled and smoothed out her daughter's hair and told her she could do whatever she wanted when she grew up.

And Ginny had grown up quite a bit in the last few years. Molly smiled softly as she looked at the two teenagers in front of her. She had seen them both grow up into _wonderful_ people and she was unbelievably proud of them. She was proud that Ginny had become brave enough to show her true self to Harry, she was proud that Harry had grown enough to let someone in. And she knew that Harry's parents would be _so_ proud of him if they could see him now.

Molly made a mental note to tell Harry this when he woke up.

And for now she would let him sleep, but she wanted Ginny down in the Great Hall. So Molly stepped softly over to the bed and put a hand on her daughter's shoulder.

Ginny started slightly in her sleep but didn't wake up. She curled more tightly into herself and closer to Harry at the same time.

"Ginny," Molly whispered quietly.

Ginny stirred again and her eyes opened. She looked confused for a moment before her eyes caught sight of Molly and Molly smiled at her softly.

"Ginny, come back to the Great Hall," she said.

Ginny glanced over at Harry and then back at her mother and Molly thought she saw a slight tinge of pink enter her daughter's cheeks.

"But—"

Molly cut her off, her eyes tearing up despite her best efforts. "Now, Ginny, this is a time for family and we need you in the Great Hall. I need you there."

Ginny looked suddenly upset and propped herself up on her elbows, careful not to jostle Harry. "I _know_ it's a time for family," she whispered fiercely. "That's why I came to find Harry. He's family too."

"Of course he is," Molly answered immediately. "Ginny, _of course_ he is, but he just needs to rest right now. Please come back to the hall."

Molly knew her voice had cracked a little at the end and she saw Ginny's expression soften. Molly suddenly felt tears on her cheeks again. She knew that Ginny didn't want to leave Harry, but Molly desperately needed to have her children with her. And as soon as Harry woke up he would come join them too.

"Okay," Ginny said quietly.

"You can come check on him very soon," Molly promised, unable to explain her need to have her children with her all together.

Molly took a step back to let Ginny have room to get up. She watched as Ginny gave Harry's hand a quick squeeze before letting go and standing up from the bed. Harry made a soft groan and Molly and Ginny froze, watching him. He rolled closer to where Ginny had been a moment before and then was still again. The two of them watched him breathe evenly for a moment before Molly wrapped an arm around Ginny's shoulder and started to walk them back towards the stairs.

"He'll be okay," she whispered to Ginny as they walked down the stairs back to the common room.

"How do you know?"

Molly smiled knowingly at her daughter. "He's got you," she said.

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**AN- Another chapter down. We've got four more to go. Please let me know what you think. It only takes a second to review!**


	4. Neville Longbottom

_Part Four_

_--Neville Longbottom—_

The Room of Requirement wouldn't open for him.

Neville ground his teeth in frustration and banged his fist against the stubbornly solid wall in front of him. He barely registered the dull aching in his hand as the rest of his body was sore and hurt. Most of his wounds had been healed quickly in passing from a frantic Madam Pomfrey but Neville knew he would need to sleep for a week before he even _began_ to feel better.

_It's all down to Neville. He really _gets_ this Room… _

Seamus's words from earlier that night came to mind as Neville stared at the blank wall in front of him. He didn't get the Room right now. He couldn't get _anything_ to happen. Hours ago it had been a masterpiece, a brilliant incarnation of a DA hideout and Neville had been quite proud of what the Room had become but now… now he couldn't even get it to become a _broom cupboard_ much less an extensive hideaway.

He just wanted somewhere to put this stupid sword. The Sword of Gryffindor was clasped in his left hand, his palm slightly sweaty from clenching his fist in frustration. There was still an eerie colored blood smeared across it from where he had sliced through Voldemort's snake. Neville couldn't remember ever being more terrified in his life but he also felt a swell of pride when he recalled the look of fury on Voldemort's face. His defiant words had come despite his fear. _I'll join you when hell freezes over. Dumbledore's Army!_ Neville had never felt so much a Gryffindor as he did then.

Neville smiled slightly and leaned against the wall behind him. As he continued to stare blankly in front of him, the sword lying at his side, he noticed something strange in front of him for the first time.

In a sweep across the floor where the door to the Room of Requirement normally appeared were what seemed to be scorch marks. Neville leaned forward and inspected the floor more closely. There was definitely evidence of some sort of fire. Again, Neville looked at the wall in front of him and considered it. Perhaps something had happened to the Room during the battle, some sort of destructive magic. It made Neville indescribably sad to think that the Room may never work again, another casualty of war.

Suddenly Neville felt twice as tired as he had a moment before. And for the first time in months he thought about going up to Gryffindor Tower to get a nice, long sleep. He ran his fingers against the wall that hid the Room of Requirement and then began to make his way down the corridor towards Gryffindor Tower.

Thankfully, he didn't meet anyone along the way. It had been hard enough to escape from the Great Hall with so many people crowding him in thanks and awe at his stand against Voldemort. The Great Hall was indeed a strange place right now, full to the brim with emotion, half sorrow and half joy.

When he reached the portrait of the Fat Lady he offered her a lopsided grin and a shrug.

"I don't know the password," he said apologetically. "It's been a while."

The Fat Lady looked down at him and offered a rare smile in return. "It certainly has," she said. "But I have orders from Minerva to admit you."

Neville smiled and looked down at the floor, nodding to himself. "Thanks."

The portrait swung open and Neville was about to step inside when two people began to climb _out_. He immediately recognized Ginny and her mother coming through from the other side and he stepped out of their way so that they could climb through unhindered.

Ginny came through first and straightened up before she caught sight of him.

"_Neville!_" she cried and suddenly through her arms around his neck.

Neville quickly recovered and hugged her back. He tried to communicate a lot of things into this hug, like the fact that Ginny had become one of his best and closest friends this year and that he was so glad that she was all right and that he was so proud of her and that having been at Hogwarts together this year, leading the DA, they understood each other in a way no one else did. He thought he was getting some of the same thing from her.

By the time they released each other, Mrs. Weasley had made her way through the portrait hole and smoothed out her dirty robes.

Neville looked up at her and nodded. "Hello, Mrs. Weasley."

She offered a warm smile in return. "Hello, Neville, dear. I'm glad to see you all right."

"Thank you. Me too. I mean- I'm glad to see _you're_ both all right as well."

Mrs. Weasley put an arm around her daughter.

"We're going back to the Great Hall," she said quietly. "Take a care to be quiet if you go up to the dorms. Harry's sleeping."

Neville's eyebrows rose in surprise before he nodded. "I'll be quiet." He smiled reassuringly at Ginny before turning and entering the Gryffindor common room.

It was not at all the way he remembered.

The room was completely devastated, furniture and walls destroyed by the battle that had raged at Hogwarts only hours ago. There was dust and debris over the floors and tables and chairs that were left standing. The stairs up to the dorms looked shaky but Neville could see multiple sets of footprints heading up and down so he assumed they were safe. And Mrs. Weasley had said Harry was sleeping up there….

Neville made his way over to the stairs and climbed them awkwardly. In the narrow space he had to hold Gryffindor's sword out in front of him. When he finally reached the seventh year dorm he saw that the door was slightly ajar and it was dark inside. He pushed the door open slowly and it swung noiselessly inward. Although neither Harry nor Ron had come back to Hogwarts at all that year and Dean had been on the run, there were still five beds circled around the room. And in the one that had always belonged to Harry, he was sleeping.

Neville stepped quietly over to his own bed, to the right of Harry's, and sat down carefully. He lay the sword at the foot of bed and sat and watched Harry for a moment.

In the seven years Neville had known Harry and the six that he's spent sleeping in the same dorm, he had never seen Harry look so peaceful in sleep. His clothes were filthy, covered in dirt and grime and blood and torn in countless places. His shoes were still on his feet though his glasses were lying on the table next to the bed. He looked everything like a seventeen-year-old boy and nothing like a _hero_.

_Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, the Chosen One_.

Right now he just looked like _Harry._ The Harry that slept in his dorm like other kids and went to classes and skived off homework and played Quidditch and told a bullied eleven-year-old that he was worth _twelve_ of Malfoy.

But he was also the Harry that saved the Philosopher's Stone and killed a Basilisk and won the Triwizard Tournament and started the DA and battled Death Eaters when he was only fifteen years old.

And he was also the Harry that lost his parents when he was only a year old and watched his godfather die, watched _Dumbledore_ die, and watched a school of his peers and teachers go to battle by his side, watched them fight and die to help him win a war that he had no choice but to fight.

Neville let out a tired sigh and kicked off his shoes. They had just fought a _war_. He rubbed his tired eyes and looked again at his friend in front him.

Harry really was one of the most amazing people Neville knew. And it wasn't just because he did amazing things, things other wizards only dreamed of or feared, but because he was just so _Harry_ at the same time. He was good and he was loyal and Neville was _proud_ to call Harry his friend.

And as he watched the hero of the wizarding world sleep in his four poster bed, Neville had never known more what it was like to be Harry Potter. Before he'd escaped the Great Hall, Neville had seen so many faces look at him in awe, like he'd done something worth all of their gratitude and amazement. But all he'd done was the right thing. He stood up for what he believed in and people were _thanking_ him, _him_, Neville Longbottom. Harry had had people staring at him like that (or worse) his whole life, mostly for something he didn't even remember. And something that was vastly more personal than other people seemed to take into consideration.

Neville knew then better than any other time just a bit of what Harry's life must have felt like but he didn't know, not even at that moment, how close he had come to living the life of Harry Potter. He did know that there were close parallels between their lives. Both he and Harry had lost their parents in one sense or another when they were very young. And both he and Harry had grown up with relatives who did not appreciate them for who they were.

_And we've both faced Voldemort and lived_, Neville thought, still a little bit in shock.

_Gran's probably pretty proud of me right now_, he thought. But it didn't seem to matter very much to him anymore. He had tried so hard for so long to be the grandson that his grandmother had always seemed to want and now that he had… it didn't matter.

Neville glanced at the sword that sat on the bed beside him. Both he and Harry had retrieved the Sword of Gryffindor from the Sorting Hat too. He reached out a hand and touched the hilt. Nothing seemed as extraordinary when you were actually living it. It wasn't some tale of glory. It was his life. He glanced up at Harry. Harry may be a hero but it wasn't _just_ a hero. He was a whole person, real and breathing and the things he'd faced weren't a fairy tale, they were real and, Neville now knew from experience, they were _terrifying_.

But right now, neither of them had to face _anything_ and Neville let himself relax for the first time since coming back to Hogwarts in September. He collapsed into the pillows behind him and closed his eyes. And he let the thought of peace wash over him for a moment before he fell into a deep sleep.

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**AN- I think this one may be my favorite so far. I just _love_ Neville so much!**

**A few quotes at the beginning from DH.**

**_Please_ let me know what you think. It only takes a second to review and it means a lot to me!**


	5. Hermione Granger

_Part Five_

_—Hermione G__ranger—_

"I'll be right back," she told him again but Ron still looked stubborn. "Ron, I don't need you to escort me to the _bathroom_."

"But you'll be _right back_, right?" Ron asked as if she hadn't told him about five times now.

She sighed and gripped his hand tightly in hers. "I'll be right back," she told him, looking him in the eye. He nodded and Hermione let out a little breath of relief. It wasn't that she wanted to leave the Weasleys right now, to leave _Ron_, but she really needed to step out of the Great Hall for a moment, preferably without any redheaded accompaniment. And she wouldn't be long. They wouldn't miss her.

Hermione quickly wrapped her arms around Ron and hugged him tightly before kissing his cheek. He smiled up at her and Hermione felt her heart flutter a little. She stood up, her cheeks warm with a nice feeling and started making her way out of the crowded hall to the refreshingly empty Entrance Hall.

After clearing the doors out of the hall the sound of mourners and celebratory chatter seemed to instantly fade away and suddenly Hermione felt immensely tired. She paused for a moment, took a few deep breaths, and started to climb the stairs towards the nearest bathroom.

Her trip to the bathroom didn't take long and while Hermione slowly washed her hands she looked at her tired reflection in the dirty mirror in front of her. Her hair was much more disheveled than usual, half of it still tied behind her head and half of it pulled loose forming a frizzy halo around her face. Her face was smeared with grime, sweat, and there was a long, jagged cut on her cheek.

Hermione splashed some water in her face and the cut instantly began to sting but she barely felt it. She dried her hands and her face and then set to pulling all of her hair back into a messy bun on the back of her head. She still looked very much as though she had just fought a war but at least she felt a little better.

When Hermione stepped out of the bathroom she instinctively turned in the direction of Gryffindor Tower and had made it a few steps before she realized that she should be returning to the Great Hall and the Weasleys. But when Hermione considered Gryffindor Tower she remembered that Harry was up there, all alone, and she had a sudden urge to go check on him.

_Living on the run for a year has made you paranoid,_ she thought to herself. _He's in Gryffindor Tower, he's fine._

But Hermione bit her lip in uncertainty. _I'll be right back_, she heard herself say. Well, it wouldn't take her long to visit Gryffindor Tower, just to check on Harry. She'd only be a few more minutes and few more minutes wouldn't hurt.

It felt funny, walking the halls of Hogwarts. It looked different somehow and Hermione knew that it wasn't just the brutal beating the castle had taken during the battle. Hermione had been a student all her life but she no longer felt as though she _belonged_ here at this school. She wondered if she would come back to finish her seventh year, wondered what it would be like to take classes and not worry about a dark wizard hunting her and her friends.

Thoughts about school, lessons, and textbooks distracted Hermione until she found herself standing at the portrait of the Fat Lady. Before she could even open her mouth the Fat Lady sighed, rolled her eyes, and swung open to admit Hermione to the common room.

"Thank you," she said quietly to the portrait before crawling through the small space and landing somewhat ungracefully on the other side.

Gryffindor Tower was a mess.

Hermione sighed as she glanced at the room around her, or what was left of it. She hadn't seen the place in a year and it was not quite the homecoming she had been expecting. But Hermione couldn't bring herself to get too emotional over the state of the common room right now. She was tired, she was worried about Harry, and she needed to get back to the Great Hall before Ron and the other Weasleys started to worry.

Turning towards the stairs that led up to the dorms Hermione dutifully ignored her disastrous surroundings. She reached the door labeled as the seventh-years' dorm and found the door slightly ajar. She pushed it in confidently and her eyes had no trouble finding Harry's still form sprawled on the nearest four-poster.

The next thing that Hermione noticed was that Harry was not the only other occupant in the dorm. Slumped in the bed straight ahead of her was Neville Longbottom looking every bit as tired and ragged as she felt. Two heroes, sleeping peacefully in their school dormitory. Hermione smiled at the thought.

She tiptoed over to Harry's bed and sat carefully on the edge, not wanting to disturb him. She reached a hand up to his face and brushed his long, filthy hair away out of his eyes. He was dirty all over, his clothes, his face, his hands all covered in grime and blood and dirt and Hermione knew she didn't look any better. She pulled her beaded bag from her sock and onto her lap and rifled through it for a moment before she found what she was looking for. Removing them from the cavernous space within, Hermione placed a set of clean clothes on Harry's nightstand for when he woke up.

Returning the bag to her sock Hermione wondered when she would start to feel comfortable without it. Or when she would stop looking over her shoulder all the time or jumping at sudden noises.

_It's been a long year_, she thought.

With a sigh Hermione closed her eyes and felt as though she could sleep for a year to make up for all the sleeping she _hadn't_ done these past few months. But there were still so many things to do and her mind was already making lists. Hogwarts was in shambles, dozens were dead, and-- Hermione grimaced with emotion-- her parents were still in Australia.

_You'll never be done_, she heard in her head. Always more to be done, always more for her to do. Finish one thing and start another. Hermione was tired of being the one to _do_ everything. All the protective spells around the tent, all the cooking, all the research. But as she glanced at Harry Hermoine suddenly felt guilty. If anyone had a right to be tired of having the world on their shoulders it was Harry.

Hermione's eyes suddenly began to sting as frustration welled up inside of her. She wanted to see her parents, to take a nice, long, hot bath, to sleep for a week. But Ron needed her. The Weasleys were in a very fragile state right now and she wasn't about to abandon them. And Harry would need her, when he woke up. He would need her to be there especially with Ron mourning the loss of his brother. Harry would be mourning the loss of… well, everyone who had died in the battle, in the _war_, in his life.

Without thinking about it, Hermione's hand shot out and grabbed Harry's. She held it firmly, feeling his pulse against her own hand and thought unwillingly about what _Harry_ had lost.

His parents before he could even remember them, his childhood to the Dursleys, his godfather in an instant, his mentor while he could do nothing to stop it, his faithful and reliable pet, a house elf that had loved him unconditionally, a brother in Fred, and the last link to where he came from in Remus.

And Hermione knew, because she knew Harry, that these deaths would weigh on him forever in one way or another.

But despite all of this, despite all of the obstacles Harry had overcome in his short life, he was still the best, kindest person she knew, filled with more love than she had ever known anyone to have. Even when he was leading them into Devil's Snare and giant chess sets, even when he was loosing his temper over everything, even when they weren't speaking, Harry loved more than anyone she had ever known.

And especially when he walked into the forest to die, it was done in love.

For a moment, Hermione's vision flashed to Hagrid, sobbing, carrying Harry's body out of the forest and she couldn't breathe, couldn't scream, couldn't see. But she blinked and there he was, lying in bed, breathing, sleeping.

His love had saved them, just as his mother's love had been his own salvation. And she loved him too. Her brother, her best friend, forever.

Hermione didn't realize she was crying until the tears dripped onto her jeans and bled through. She blinked rapidly and rubbed at her face, the cut on her face starting to sting again as salty tears found their way into it. She let herself cry for all the fear she'd experienced in the past seven years, for all the arguments, for all the close calls, for everything and everyone lost along the way, for Ron, and for Harry. But as her tears started to ebb away, Hermione smiled. Because she knew that despite all of those things, she had two of the best friends anyone could ask for and they were lucky to have made it through these seven years.

And even with all the fights, the fears, the close calls, Hermione suddenly knew that she wouldn't trade a second of it.

Standing up but not letting go of Harry's hand Hermione bent over and kissed Harry on the forehead. "I'm so proud of you," she whispered.

Hermione knew she had been more than a few minutes by now and Ron might start to worry or go looking for her. But she took another moment to watch Harry sleep, resting more soundly than he had in years. She squeezed his hand once and turned to leave. She wanted to stay, for Ron to be there, for the three of them to have a day when they didn't have to worry about anything.

But right now, there were things to do.

* * *

**AN- Hope you enjoy Hermione's chapter. I bet you can guess who comes next... Ron! So stay tuned for more. And please review, it means the world to me. Thanks.**


	6. Ron Weasley

_Part Six_

_—Ron Weasley—_

Ron Weasley's life was not making sense.

After spending so many months hidden away in remote forests with only Harry and Hermione for company, sitting in the Great Hall surrounded by people, by his _family_ was only just beginning to sink in. The past twenty four hours were a blur of dragons, explosions and spell fire intermixed with his sudden arrival back at Hogwarts and the subsequent arrival of his friends and family. All together it was very much like a punch in the face.

It was all Ron could do not to pass out in emotional and physical exhaustion. He let his elbows slide onto the table in front of him where he sat in the Great Hall and rubbed at his face with his hands.

Everything that had happened in the past day felt like a dream, felt unreal. You-Know-Who was _dead_, gone forever. And he, Harry and Hermione had made it through alive against all odds. If Ron was honest with himself, the chances for that had been pretty slim. Even surrounded by such devastation Ron felt lucky. Lucky that he was alive, that Harry was alive, that Hermione was alive. Lucky that his family—_most_ of his family—had made it through in one piece.

Ron opened his eyes and turned to watch his family sitting around him at the table. His parents sat on the bench across from him, Ginny wrapped up in their mother's embrace, both of them with red, bloodshot eyes and tearstains on their cheeks. As Ron looked more closely he could see that his mother was still crying. His dad wasn't doing much better, his arm around his wife, his glasses cracked and broken, his gaze shallow and dull and destroyed as his cheeks shone with tears.

Bill and Charlie sat to his right talking quietly amongst themselves. And to his left, the most distraught of the Weasleys, were Percy and George, the latter collapsed in on himself while Percy held him. Ron had never seen Percy so close with one of the twins before but it didn't seem strange to him. Nor did it seem strange to see Percy amongst the family again. If now wasn't a time to forgive and forget Ron didn't know what was.

He tried not to think about Fred. Fred, laughing, crushed by collapsing castle walls. He could see it when he closed his eyes, knew that he had seen it, but couldn't comprehend the gravity of what had happened. This was another reason Ron's life was not making sense.

In a desperate effort to distract himself Ron looked around hoping to see Hermione returning to the Great Hall. It had been a good quarter of an hour since she had left and, though he was reluctant to admit it, he was beginning to worry. Even now, it wasn't safe. Ron doubted whether he would ever feel safe again.

But Hermione was nowhere to be seen in the hall and Ron turned dejectedly back to the table. He leaned forward and rested his head in the crook of his right arm, eyes still staring at the doors of the Great Hall, drooping from tiredness as he held back a yawn.

Another quarter of an hour passed with little to no change in the state of the family and Ron was becoming anxious. He glanced around the hall one more time before standing slowly. Immediately his mother's eyes were on him accusingly but Ron didn't give her a chance to speak.

"I'm just going to look for Hermione," he said quietly. "I'll be right back."

In his mind Ron heard Hermione's voice, _I'll be right back_.

His mum looked like she wanted to argue but just nodded stiffly and rested her head on top of Ginny's. His dad didn't seem to have noticed that anything was happening at all. Between his parents' indifference Ron felt uneasy but at the thought of Hermione possibly in trouble somewhere in the castle he steeled himself to leave his family if only for a moment.

Ron nodded to himself in reassurance and forced himself to walk slowly out of the hall. He didn't notice anything or anyone as he passed, just focused on the doors in front of him. And then, as if from a dream, she was there.

Walking towards him looking a little better than when she had left, her hair thrown up behind her head in a messy bun, some of the smudges gone from her cheeks, was Hermione. Ron had never been happier to see her and the last few steps toward her were effortless. Hermione looked up at him and smiled tiredly.

"You said you'd be right back," Ron whispered and then hugged her.

Hermione returned his hug with warm, reassuring arms. "I'm sorry. I just went to check on Harry."

Ron pulled away a little, arms still holding her, and waited for her to continue. At the mention of Harry Ron unconsciously held his breath anxiously.

"He's fine," Hermione told him quickly, noting his worried expression. "He's asleep in Gryffindor Tower. He's fine."

Ron let out a sigh of relief and nodded. He smiled briefly but it was forced. "Don't know why I was worried," he said with an attempt at a chuckle.

"After what's happened, it's no wonder," Hermione said seriously. "I keep picturing him…" she trailed off. And Ron didn't need her to clarify just what she was picturing. It was all too clear in his own mind.

"I know."

The two of them stood there for a few minutes near the doors of the Great Hall holding each other and not saying anything. Ron breathed a little easier with Hermione's warm embrace around him and her reassuring presence.

"Maybe you should go see him," she said quietly. "See for yourself that he really is okay."

Ron started to shake his head, started to tell her that he was fine, that he knew Harry was okay but then he looked into Hermione's eyes and knew that she was right, as usual.

"Okay," he said. "Let my parents know I'll be back in a minute?"

Hermione nodded and kissed him on the cheek. "Be right back?" she asked him with a smile.

He let out a brief chuckle. "Yeah," he said. "Be right back."

Ron felt Hermione squeeze his hand quickly and then she was behind him walking over to his family. Ron walked quickly out of the hall before his mother could call him back. When he reached passed through the doors of the Great Hall it instantly became much quieter and Ron took a deep, calming breath.

His work toward Gryffindor Tower was leisurely as he took in the sights of Hogwarts as if he had never seen them before. And indeed his Hogwarts days seemed so far behind him that being in its halls again was like being a first year again. But he found the Tower without any problems, his feet moving instinctively as he moved though the maze of Hogwarts Castle.

The Fat Lady was in her frame guarding the portrait hole but as Ron approached she did not ask him for a password. She simply sighed, rolled her eyes, and opened. Ron didn't give the portrait but crawled through the hole into the common room like he had done so many times before.

The inside was still recognizable as the home of Gryffindor, but there were clear signs of battle lingering in the room. Ron passed through the common room without much thought and headed for the staircase. As he climbed he could almost imagine that he was just turning in after a long day of classes and quidditch practice. He could almost hear the cheerful sounds of students studying and laughing before in the cozy red chairs and by the fire. But when he came to the door of what should have been the seventh year dormitory Ron knew that he would probably never experience those things again.

The door was almost shut, but not quite all the way there and Ron could hear soft, familiar snores from inside. Ron pushed open the door and saw Neville across the room, collapsed on his bed, the Sword of Gryffindor next to him, lightly snoring.

Nearer to the door was Harry. Ron stood in the doorway for a moment, just looking at Harry and thinking about how Harry never snored. In the six years Ron had shared a dorm with him and the year on they had spent in a tent together, Ron had never heard Harry snore. Not to say that Harry was a silent sleeper. His sleep was often marred by nightmares that caused him to toss and turn or on occasion to call out, but he never snored.

But right now, Harry was still and silent. Ron watched his chest rise and fall steadily as he breathed, watched the peaceful look on Harry's face and suddenly felt exhausted himself.

All at once Ron felt the past twenty-four hours, the past _year_, catch up with him. He collapsed on the bed to the left of the door, the bed that would have been his had he returned, and sat there feeling as though he could sleep for a hundred years. He resisted the urge to sleep however. remembering he had told Hermione he would be right back. Instead he simply sat and took in his surroundings. He hadn't been in this room in a year.

It was strange to think that he may never sleep in this bed again, never wake up late and rush to breakfast, never go to sleep here after a long day of classes. This room held six years of his life. How many times had he sat here, Harry on his own bed, the two of them reading comics or talking about quidditch or fantasizing about what it would be like to be Aurors? How many times had the two of them sat here and worried about potions homework or thought up clever ways to insult Malfoy or eaten countless chocolate frogs while trading the cards?

These were the things he would remember, Ron decided. Not the Chamber of Secrets or the Triwizard Tournament. He would remember Sunday afternoons in the library doodling on textbooks or lounging in the common room throwing Every Flavor Beans at unsuspecting first years. He glanced over at Harry. He would remember good times spent with the best friend he had ever known.

Ron smiled and recalled the first time he had met Harry, that day on the Hogwarts Express. He had been so surprised to meet _Harry Potter_. Never did Ron think he'd be so lucky as to share a compartment with _the_ Harry Potter. He was famous and had _talked _to him, Ron Weasley, nobody.

_Lucky_, Ron concurred. He had been lucky to share a compartment with Harry. But he hadn't been lucky because he'd met someone famous but because Harry Potter would become Ron's best friend, the best friend anyone could ever ask for. He wasn't famous Harry Potter, he was just _Harry_ and he was the best person Ron had ever met.

And Ron knew, someone inside himself, that he had not always been the friend Harry deserved. Fourth year when he'd been so _jealous_, or this past year when he'd _left_ Harry and Hermione behind….

_Don't think about that_, Ron told himself. He had put that behind him. Harry and Hermione had moved on and so had he. It was a mistake, one that Ron could never forget or make up for, but one that had been forgiven and let go. Never again would he abandon his friends.

Ron shifted his weight on the bed and leaned back against the headboard. His body ached and his head was beginning to pound, but Ron didn't care much about that right now. There were others worse off than himself right now, hurting, dying, or already dead.

Fred flashed into his mind and Ron felt instant tears sting behind his eyes but he blinked them back.

He looked over at Harry again, still sleeping peacefully, and knew that he had almost lost two of this brothers in the span of a few hours.

It had been the worst moment of his life, watching Fred die, but watching Harry's body carried out of the forest, hearing that his best friend, another brother, was dead, was almost too much for him to take. Ron had never felt like that in his entire life and he never would again if he could help it. It had been as though the world had ended, that everything he had ever known had been a lie. Seven years of knowing Harry and then he was gone? Ron had not been able to grasp it, to put his mind around it. And he had not tried very hard.

It was easier, not thinking about it. It was easier to be mad at Voldemort, to hate Voldemort than to mourn Harry.

But he didn't have to mourn Harry, Ron reminded himself. Harry was fine. He was right there, sleeping, peaceful, victorious and _alive_.

If watching Harry's body being carried out of the forest was one of the worst moments of Ron's life, seeing his friend alive again had been one of the best. He wanted to shout with overwhelming relief. And he was pretty sure he had at some point or another.

Harry was fine.

_But will he be?_ something in Ron asked. _Is he really just going to be fine?_

After everything they had been through in the past year, everything Harry had been through the past seven years, everything and everyone he had lost, could he really just sleep it off, wake up and be okay? Harry may have been one of the strongest people Ron knew but could anyone be okay after the life Harry had been through.

Over the past seven years Ron had watched Harry deal with more than anyone should ever have to deal with in a lifetime. He had watched his best friend overcome countless obstacles with his head held high. He had been there when Harry had given up his own life to save the people he loved. Harry may have been through more than could ever be asked of one person, but he was also the strongest, bravest person Ron had ever known.

Harry had faced death on multiple occasions and still came out on top. But Ron knew, somehow, that it was all going to catch up to Harry the moment he had a second to stop and breathe. And that moment was soon approaching. Harry was going to wake up to a brand new world—a world without Voldemort, without prophecy, without war. And when that happened he was going to have to face everything he had never had time to face before. He was going to have to mourn the people he'd lost and confront what had happened to him. And it was going to be hard.

But then Ron recalled all the things he had told himself he would remember about Hogwarts- sitting in the common room making up their Divination homework or lounging out by the lake while Hermione gently nagged them about exams coming up. Harry had all of those memories too. There had been a lot of bad times, Ron knew, but there had been so many good ones too.

Harry might not be fine when he woke up. But he would be, eventually. And Ron had already vowed never to leave Harry or Hermione again. He could help Harry for once and he intended to do just that. He could remind Harry of all the good times they'd had, all the people that still cared for him and always would. He could finally help Harry, the one who always helped everyone else. Ron was indeed lucky to know Harry Potter.

And with that thought Ron smiled. They really were going to be okay.

* * *

**AN- Here's Ron's chapter. I hope you like it. Ron and Harry's friendship is I think one of the strongest and most dynamic relationships in all the books and I really don't think I've done it justice. But I do hope you enjoyed and please review to let me know what you think! I'd love to hear from you, if only briefly!**


	7. Harry Potter

_Part Seven_

—_Harry Potter—_

It was a small, dark space but it was familiar in a far away kind of way. Perhaps he'd been here a long time ago.

It felt like he was waiting for something or someone and the longer he sat there in that small dark space the more restless Harry became. He could see a door in front of him, a wooden door with a small metal grate in it. There was a weak, yellow light stretching through the thin slits in the grate. There was no handle, and he couldn't push it open.

Harry began to knock on the door, to bang on it, and when no one came he tried to call out only to find that this voice wouldn't work. He pounded harder on the door, his throat straining in a yell but no sound emerging. And then, with a particularly vicious pound of his fist the door swung open soundlessly and he tumbled out onto the carpet of a small hallway.

Looking around Harry instantly recognized the pristine interior of the Dursley household. Framed photos of his relatives lined the walls in front of him and behind him was the cupboard under the stairs. Harry frowned at the small dusty interior of the cupboard and then stood feeling distinctly shorter than he ought to.

Harry made his way to the kitchen at the end of the hall and cautiously pushed open the door, peering inside as though waiting for a rabid animal to attack him from the other side. But the only living things behind the door were Uncle Vernon and Dudley at the breakfast table and Aunt Petunia washing dishes in the sink. Harry took a few tentative steps into the kitchen and waited for someone to address him.

Aunt Petunia turned as he entered and scowled at him. She strode over and looked down at him with her fists on her hips. Harry didn't remember her being so tall. She towered over him.

"Finally up are you?" she snarled at him. "I've been making breakfast myself."

"Sorry, Aunt Petunia," Harry said quietly. "I didn't know you were waiting on me."

Aunt Petunia sniffed and strode back to the sink. "Of course we've been waiting on you. I woke you up twenty minutes ago. And on Dudley's birthday! Have you wished your cousin a happy birthday?"

Harry caught a grimace and mumbled, "Happy birthday, Dudley."

Dudley smirked from the table where he was shoving bacon into his mouth. He had his Smeltings uniform on, every part of it including his ridiculous hat. Uncle Vernon hadn't peered out from behind the newspaper he was reading, which was fine with Harry as he was not particularly in the mood to be criticized.

As Harry poured himself a glass of juice and sat down a click and a rustle of paper sounded from the front door.

"Mail's here, darling," Aunt Petunia told her husband, suddenly all smiles and cheerful as she placed another serving of breakfast ham on his plate.

"Get the mail, Dudley," Uncle Vernon said.

"Make Harry get it," Dudley whined in return.

"Get the mail Harry."

Harry was going to retort but decided against it and got up from his seat to go fetch the mail. He took his time as he left the kitchen and walked down the hall to the front door. He picked up the pile of mail and began to rifle through the small stack of letters.

A postcard from Uncle Vernon's sister and a bill were the most interesting items until Harry reached the bottom of the stack. Neatly written out on a thick envelope Harry stared at his own name in shimmering green ink.

Mr. H. Potter

_The Cupboard under the Stairs_

_4, Privet Drive_

_Little Whinging_

_Surrey_

Harry felt as though his heart was leaping into his chest. He quickly carried the mail back to the kitchen, dropped most of it in front of Uncle Vernon and then began to open his first ever piece of post.

There was a wax seal on the back that Harry easily broke through and then lifted the thick paper from the inside.

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted…

But that was as far as Harry got before his aunt interrupted.

"Oh look, Vernon, Harry's gotten a letter."

Harry looked up at her and clutched the letter tightly in his hands lest anyone try to take it from him.

Uncle Vernon looked up from his newspaper, took on look at Harry's letter and said, "Oh yes, dear, another one of those prank mailings. I suspect it has something to do with aliens this time."

Harry blinked and looked down at the letter again. _A prank?_ He didn't understand.

Aunt Petunia walked around to read the letter over Harry's shoulder. "Magic this time," she said calmly. "What will they think of next?"

Harry looked up at her, some sort of strange desperation rising up in him. "It's not real?" he whispered hoarsely, irrationally distraught.

"Of course it's not real," Aunt Petunia snapped at him. "There's no such thing as magic."

"But I got a letter," Harry protested. "Why would they send a letter?"

"It's a joke," Aunt Petunia responded sharply. "A joke they play on stupid little boys like you. As if something like magic were real."

Hearing Aunt Petunia say those words cut at Harry like knives and he didn't know why. Why couldn't magic exist? Why couldn't this be real? This had to be real. It _had _to. Harry stood to his full height but his aunt was still much taller, almost unnaturally so.

"It _is_ real!" Harry shouted at her. "_It IS real!_"

Aunt Petunia merely smiled cruelly at him, her face twisting like wet clay.

Harry clenched his fist around the letter in his hand.

"There's no such thing as magic," Aunt Petunia said. "There's no such thing as magic." Her face looked less and less human as Harry watched her stand and repeat those words. He blinked and Dudley and Uncle Vernon were standing next to her, all of them looking too tall, too much like monsters to be real.

"There's no such thing as magic," they said, over and over again. "There's no such thing as magic."

"Yes there is!" Harry shouted at them, something inside him so disturbed by their words, their _lies_ that he wanted to smash things, to cry, to yell out. "_Magic IS real! IT IS REAL! IT IS REAL!_"

Everything was getting darker, and the _things_ before him were getting louder and he was getting louder in return.

"There's no such thing as magic."

"IT IS REAL!"

They were walking closer to him and Harry couldn't move his feet. He was shouting at the top of his lungs but he couldn't move, could only watch as the beasts that used to be his relatives closed around him.

And then Harry woke up.

For a few moments, Harry stayed very still, his eyes unfocused, his breathing rapid. And as he lie there the dream began to leave him and his surroundings slowly began to make sense.

He instinctively reached to the nightstand beside him for his glasses, slipped them on, and then didn't move for a few more minutes.

"Magic is real," he whispered to himself as he stared at the red hangings of the four poster bed. This was the first thing he knew to be true. He was in Gryffindor Tower. He was at Hogwarts, and Hogwarts _did_ exist. And he was a wizard, like his parents had been before him.

It was all coming to him slowly, as if he were dredging these simple facts out of very thick mud. He sat up slowly, his body aching and protesting and looked at the room before him, a very familiar room. A few emotions came to him very quickly. A feeling of being home after a long time away, a lonely feeling at finding the room empty, and a feeling of loss that he was not able to place.

Harry tried to remember how he had gotten here, what he had been doing before, tried to remember _anything_, but nothing was coming to him.

_Start at the beginning_, he told himself.

He was in Gryffindor Tower, in the boys' dorm where he had spent his time at Hogwarts. He looked at each bed in turn. _That one is Ron's_, he reminded himself. _And that one is Dean's, and then Seamus's and then Neville's._

Yes, that was right. He knew those beds, knew those people.

He looked down at himself and found himself wearing ripped, bloody jeans and shirt that had seen much better days. He was bruised, bleeding, and sore. His chest was particularly painful.

_What have you gotten yourself into this time_? He pondered.

Harry ran a hand through his hair and noticed that not only was it extremely filthy, it was also very long, the longest it had ever been. He frowned in confusion.

As Harry took a long, deep breath, sharp pain shot through this chest and he gasped. Lifting his shirt Harry peered down to find a surprising sight. Near the center of his chest was an oval shaped scar and right next to that was a very large, ugly purple bruise, as though someone had tried to squeeze the life out of him. Harry winced looking at the damage inflicted on his body. He stared at the scar in confusion for a few seconds and then memory flashed in his mind.

A giant snake striking out at him, Hermione shouting, jumping from a window, a locket.

A horcrux.

Horcruxes. The Deathly Hallows.

The battle….

In an instant everything flooded back to Harry and he felt himself falling. He blinked and he was on the floor next to the bed, images racing in front of his eyes, voices, screams, pain shot through his body. Harry curled up, tried to block the stream of images assaulting him but he couldn't. He suddenly remembered, remembered everything.

He could see Fred toppled by a collapsing castle wall, he could see Remus and Tonks lying side by side on the floor of the Great Hall. He could see his parents and Sirius and Remus standing before him, he could see Colin's body, he could see Voldemort, he could see Snape's mangled body, he could hear Hagrid sobbing, he could hear Ron and Hermione and Ginny calling out his name. He could see Sirius falling through the veil and he could see Cedric's prone form on the ground and he could see Dumbledore's body tumble from the top of the Astronomy Tower.

Harry tried to curl further in on himself. He didn't notice the hard wooden floor beneath him or the tears streaming down his cheeks. He could not hear himself gasping for breath, he could only hear screams.

That was how Ron and Hermione found him.

Harry didn't know how long he was on the floor before two sets of arms were hauling him up onto the bed again.

He could feel their arms around him, and he could hear their voices, but he couldn't make out their words and he couldn't open his eyes. For a long time, Harry couldn't bring himself to look at his best friends, but an unconscious part of him was glad they were there. Their presence was infinitely comforting.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Harry opened his eyes and saw Ron and Hermione on either side of him, alive and well, and with him. And Harry knew when he saw them that he had never needed them more. Through all the seven years Harry had known his best friends, through all of their adventures and trials and battles, Harry had never been more thankful to have them at his side.

In the rush of the past twenty-four hours, Harry felt unsure of what to do now. "Is it over?" he whispered, his voice hoarse.

Ron nodded and Hermione said, "Yes, Harry. It's over. You don't have to do anything right now, okay?"

Harry nodded and looked at his knees, suddenly very self-conscious that he had just cried in front of them. He was still on the verge of breaking down, he knew it, but he didn't want them to see him like that again.

"How long was I asleep?" he asked, hoping to change the subject.

"About a day," Ron answered. "Most of the commotion down there has settled."

Harry nodded but could think of nothing further to say so he remained silent. He waited for someone else to speak, but for a long time the three of them simply sat there on the four poster bed in companionable silence.

Finally, Hermione said, "You should really see Madame Pomfrey, Harry."

Harry grimaced without thinking about it.

"I know you hate the hospital wing, but you need medical attention," she urged.

Harry turned to Ron for support but he was nodding in agreement with Hermione. "Hate to say it, but she's right again. You really do look beat."

Harry sighed, too tired and sore to argue and decided that it probably wasn't the worst idea in the world. "Yeah, okay," he said. "But not right now."

The longer Harry sat there, the more difficult it became to think of leaving the comfort and safety of Gryffindor Tower and venturing back into the great wide world of Hogwarts. The idea of seeing anyone other than Ron or Hermione right now made him slightly nauseous and he was beginning to dread the congratulatory welcome he was sure he would receive from numerous people he had never met.

He thought of Ginny and couldn't keep a small smile from his face, but knowing that she was likely surrounded by numerous friends and family took away some of the appeal of seeing her again. The only people he wanted to see right now were already with him, just as they had been with him for seven years.

Harry looked around at the boys' dorm and felt as though it was his sanctuary from the outside world. And he looked at Ron and Hermione and felt a great surge of affection towards them.

"Thank you," he whispered to them.

Hermione beamed at him. Ron snorted, but a small smile tugged at his lips.

"All that and we get a lousy thank you?" Ron scoffed jokingly. "Remind me of that next time I want to come along on an adventure."

Hermione scowled at him but Harry smiled, if only briefly.

"No more adventures," he vowed seriously. "I'm done. Retired. Out of the game."

Ron and Hermione looked at him, Ron somewhat skeptically and Hermione with a reassuring smile.

"But really," Harry said again, "thank you."

Hermione grabbed his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "You're welcome. Harry, we're so proud of you."

Harry looked up at her and suddenly felt a stinging behind his eyes. Hearing those words effected him more than he ever thought they would.

"Yeah, we are," Ron affirmed and Harry's spirits buoyed even more.

"And we're still always here for you," Hermione said.

"I know."

And Harry knew that he would need them again. He would need them by his side when he decided to finally leave Gryffindor Tower. He would need them when he worked up the courage to enter the Great Hall again. He would need Ron and Hermione for life. And he knew, without any doubt, that they would be there by his side and he would be by theirs, always.

* * *

**AN--Well, here you have it, the longest and final chapter- Harry's. I figure after everyone else got their say in, he should get his too. **

**Please let me know what you think. I would really appreciate you taking the time to leave a review.**

**Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed.**


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